


What You Really Want

by type_40_consulting_detective



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Pre-Canon, The Talk, Top Greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 14:28:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3491759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/type_40_consulting_detective/pseuds/type_40_consulting_detective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the moment come, Sherlock has to decide between two paths, two desires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Really Want

**Author's Note:**

> Written in under 24 hours for the [Come At Once](http://come-at-once.livejournal.com/) livejournal porn writing challenge. Beta work by [beautifullyheeled](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullyheeled/pseuds/beautifullyheeled) and [humshappily](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HumsHappily/pseuds/HumsHappily).

Sherlock slams the door behind him, earning a dirty look from Greg, settled behind his desk attempting to finish the mountain of paperwork for once.

“You will not break my door because you’re in a mood, Sher-”

“What do you really want?” Sherlock says over him, hands braced on the desk edge and back to the door. His eyes are aflame with purpose, and he has no intention of letting this question drag out any longer without a real answer..

“ _Now_?” Greg sighs, shutting his case file and leaning back a bit in his chair. “Go on then, get it all out.”

“I need clearer expectations.” Greg tilts his head in question and Sherlock continues. “Of us. What do you want.”

“You can’t see it? I’ve done nothing but show you-”

“That I’m a good for a blow job when you need it?” Sherlock interjects, words dripping in disdain. “That I’m...useful. To _you_ , to _your_  work.”

“Sherlock, don’t start this.” Greg stands, coming to hold him, but Sherlock backs away. “That’s not all you are to me and you know it.”

“What else then?”

“You’re important.” Greg takes another step closer, and Sherlock pivots so he isn’t backed to the wall.

“ _Important?_ ” Sherlock sneers at Greg’s word choice. Important doesn’t give him any sense of direction, anything to ground himself to.

“Important. A priority.” Greg took a deep breath, drawing up all the strength for the next part. _Cards all on the table,_  his expression reads, and Sherlock mentally braces for it.

“You’re needed and oh so loved.” Greg offers, eyes open and honest, and it throws Sherlock off kilter.

“L-loved?”

“Yes, Sherlock. Loved.” Greg takes another careful step, and Sherlock doesn’t dodge this time.   “Is that alright?”

“I don’t know. I need to…” Sherlock grips the sides of his head, as if to hold his overfull skull shut.

“Think? That’s fine.” Sherlock’s hand shook in a painfully familiar was as he gathered up his coat to leave, and he knows Greg can read it on him. “Be safe, alright?”

==========

Curled in his bed at the flat, Sherlock fights the call of the little wooden shaving box under the floorboards, stolen from his father and repurposed for his needs. His head is too full, too noisy, and the little baggies promise either clarity or quiet. Either sounds better than the swirling doubts and the pounding of his heart that brings him to a cold sweat.

_Needed. Loved_.

Love is dangerous. Love is a saddle of expectations, and a stinging whip when they aren’t met. Love is handing his power over, tying himself to a person with invisible, cutting threads that leave chunks of himself when he tries to get out. Sex, he understands well enough. Affection even. Love is beyond.

Greg though...Greg is warm. He’s kind and soft when Sherlock needed, rough and passionate when it mattered. If there was a person that he had a hope of loving, it’s him.

The sun’s just peeking out over the horizon when Sherlock finally moves from the bed, prising up the loose board with his fingers and caressing the soft polished walnut, familiar after all this time. Inside, he could picture the saline vials, the baggies of powder, the cashe of disposable needles. He doesn’t open it, doesn’t dare yet, but wraps it in spare newspaper and stuffs it into the pocket his oversized hoodie. He takes the long way, avoiding cameras where he can, though the hoodie and slouching walk help disguise him from prying eyes.

==========

Greg sometimes feels lucky that his sleep schedule is so far out of the norm. If he isn’t hopped up on coffee, he can sleep with in ten minutes of hitting the pillow and be fully awake and functional in under a minute. It’s under two minutes from the first knock that he’s bringing Sherlock into the flat. He tries not to panic at the appearance of Sherlock’s undercover junkie jacket and jogging trousers, rather than the wool Belstaff and dark suits of his usual attire.

Greg takes a good look at Sherlock’s pupils when he brings him a tea and a few biscuits. Normal, it seems. He’s been clean for nearly three years now, but the fear of relapse isn’t gone yet.

“I didn’t.” Sherlock assures him, taking the tea and curling into a ball on the side of the couch.

“Didn’t buy? Didn’t take?”

“Both.” Sherlock pauses to take a sip of tea, still far too tense. “Didn’t even go there.”

“That’s good, Sherlock. Really good.”

“I wanted to. Wanted to so bad. I…” Greg places a hand on Sherlock’s knee, hoping to offering him some comfort, and holds his tongue to give Sherlock space to talk.

“Did you mean it? Earlier, did you mean that you…?”

”That I loved you?” When Sherlock nods, Greg grins. He pulls at Sherlock, bringing him into the circle of his arms. “Course I meant it.” Tipping Sherlock’s head up, he meets his eyes, heart breaking at the fear he sees in them still. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

“I’m not worth something like that. _Freak._ ”

“Worth it to me.” The silence hangs heavy while they study each other’s eyes, Sherlock looking away first. He reaches into his large coat pocket, bringing out the wooden box and setting it in Greg’s hands.

“D-Don’t open it, please.” He asks, voice shaking with the siren call of need stringing through his body.

Greg glances down at the solid weight in his hands. “What is it?”

“I had some still hidden.” Comprehension dawns on Greg’s face, and he sets it aside very carefully on the coffee table, out of reach for Sherlock. Both of them understand the meaning in that. “I couldn’t get rid of it.” Sherlock offers, voice wavering.

“It’s alright now.”  The weight of it sits heavy between them, this implicit trust. With no more words to give, Greg just curls him closer, sighing and kissing into his hair, fighting back his tears. “Thank you.”

Sherlock shivers at what he’s done, the security blanket of that box gone now. He couldn’t keep it and be worthy; might still not be worthy, no matter what Greg says. He takes the soft intimacy of the moment, moving slowly until Greg’s kissing falls across his face and onto his lips. He answers them with his own, pressing in and retreating to be followed, the push pull of them coming together for the first time this like this. As if agreed upon beforehand, there is nothing urgent or anxious about their movements.

_This_ , Sherlock thinks,  _is making love. This is what they talk about_ . Heat builds between them; no soundtrack except quiet sighs and the smacking of lips on skin. Sherlock climbs to straddle his lover’s lap. Their hands begin to search out skin, building up the fire that warms them.

“You don’t _owe_ me this, any of this.” Greg gasps out as Sherlock slips off his knit vest, diving in to kiss his neck and run nimble fingers through the salt and pepper thatch of his chest.

“I want you, all of you.” Sherlock speaks against his ear, pausing and waiting, unsure if Greg had meant him to stop.

“Stay tonight. Don’t run off after.”

Sherlock doesn’t reply, just kisses him more, and Greg just hopes he will listen. Too many mornings waking up alone are taking their toll on him.

Off the couch, down the hall and onto the bed. They keep hands on each other, leaving a trail of clothes until they crash to the mattress in only pants and Sherlock’s socks. Greg crawls over him, caging in Sherlock’s body with his own, and Sherlock’s mind quiets a little in the face of his overwhelming presence.  _Everything_  is Greg; his whole sight filled with him. The scent of cologne and arousal. The taste of english breakfast tea and dark warmth. Sherlock’s skin seems to flush in every place they touch, as if his very blood needs to be closer to the source of calm dominance.

“ _Anything_ ,” Sherlock gasps out, meaning it for what might be the first time, though he’s said it often enough in this bed. He’s given over to it, head quiet like nothing but the drugs have ever provided him. Greg strips off the last of his clothing, and he’s bare, cock standing out proud and needy. He mewls softly as Greg gives him a stroke, managing the word <more> before his words seem to float away as well.

Greg’s words lack meaning beyond the calming tone; but a few gentle commands break past.

Sherlock rolls to his stomach, one leg bent up, and he hears the distinct click of the lubricant cap. His breathing morphs to anxious little pants, wanting but still unsteady, until Greg is laid behind and half over him, grounding him. Greg drops sweet kisses and praises along his neck as the first slick finger teases and circles him.

“ _Please_ ” comes back to him, the only word he knows now and he’s a sloppy, begging mess long before he’s prepared enough for Greg’s liking.  

Sherlock moves with Greg’s directions, spoons hips to arse with his head pillowed on Greg’s arm. Greg helps Sherlock to lift up his upper thigh, and then he’s suddenly too full. It’s too much and it burns and he begs for more in breathy whispers.

” _Look_  at me, Love. Sherlock,  _darling_ , look at me”. Greg  murmurs.

Sherlock’s head rolls back, eyes half lidded and slow from pleasure. He gives Greg a content smile, and Greg’s relieved sigh is more felt than heard. Greg moves, rocking slowly at first, letting them both adjust to the intensity of it all. There is no defined moment when it amps up, but there is a steady build to completion. Sherlock knows he is crying out wordlessly and Greg is holding him around the middle, snapping his hips fast and hard driving the senseless sounds from him. Sherlock comes  first, the tight coiled spring inside him fractures as he comes undone. Every muscle of his pelvis is convulsing in chorus, and he spends himself on the sheets. Greg pulls out and strokes himself, filthy words streaming from him as his hot seed marks Sherlock’s back and arse.

When the air is no longer full of groans and slapping skin, it feels empty, void of of oxygen.

Sherlock chokes out half a sob, and he’s enveloped in strong arms. Greg soothes him and lays out cautious questions he can only answer with shakes or nods of his head. When the words return, they are only “ _sorry_ ” and “ _wanted_ ” and “ _didn’t mean to_ ”. Greg shushes him  and wipes him down, using his own discarded pants to clean what he can before pulling the sheets and coverlet over them. The tenderness almost hurts, more proof of how much Greg cares for him.

After a quiet doze in Greg’s arms, Sherlock feels more himself; is even more embarrassed than he was originally. Greg is foolish to love him, he’ll come to that in time. He shifts out of Greg’s arms, accidentally waking him, making Greg  grip his too thin frame tightly.

“One more minute.  _Please_ , just another minute of this.” Greg pleads.

Sherlock stays for that minute, and the next few after, mulling over his next words. Before Greg sets him free, Sherlock nuzzles up to his ear and whispers what he’s not brave enough to say any louder quite yet. The softest secret that Sherlock has ever, or might ever speak.

_”I love you, too.”_

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually my second for this challenge group. My first[ House Rules (And How He Broke Them)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1275805) was almost a year ago to the date and my first smut ever. It's scary and exciting, and I will probably do this to myself again!
> 
> [The Shaving Box](http://www.cascity.com/forumhall/index.php?topic=48458.0)
> 
> This fic was facilitated by two songs on repeat.  
> [What Do You Want from Me by Adam Lambert](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X1Fqn9du7xo)  
> [Stay covered by Sam Tsui](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UJuYXT-FTeA)


End file.
